The Monster
by Kapellmeister
Summary: Rosalie is hunting and hears a noise. Couldn't change anything, right?


Rosalie reveled in the sunlight, marveling in the way that it caressed her diamond skin. She would linger in the patches, slowing her run as she weaved elegantly amongst the wispy trees. The light amplified her natural beauty, long blonde hair catching the glow and reflecting it back. A glorious huntress, she couldn't help but to embrace the strength behind her strides and the crisp bite of wind in her face as she traversed the mountainside, satiated from her last meal.

Reaching a summit, Rosalie hesitated. From her vantage point, she could see clearly for miles. A low veil of clouds drifted lazily over the massive mounds, dissipating and reforming in indolent patterns. She absently noted its untouched beauty, the mist from the trees turning the landscape a hazy blue. Allowing herself a small smile, she sat back, enjoying her patch of sun and freedom of thought. Hundreds of miles away from their most recent habitation, she was pretty sure that here, at least, she was safe from Edward Cullen's mind, gentlemanly or not. It was a comfort; often betrayed her in embarrassing ways.

Closing her eyes and throwing back her head, she bit her lip. The razor prick of her teeth was oddly comforting as she listened to the sounds of nature around her.

Here, a herd of deer grazed languidly.

There, a wildcat shrieked, pinning its prey in one lightning strike.

And in the distance there was a scream.

Her eyes flashed open, glittering and fierce. Her head instinctively jerked in the direction of the noise, due south. A low guttural growl weaved in a horrible countermelody to the cadence of a man's agonized shrieks.

In a second she was on her feet, her legs carrying her unbidden towards the source of the ruckus. In minutes, an unwelcome scent rushed over her. Blood. Its warm, delicious scent pervaded her senses, coating her tongue with a heavy film as she took a deep breath. Its dark musk was absolutely maddening, causing her falter.

No. For some reason she couldn't bare the thought of stopping. Unbidden, memories of that terrible night long ago flooded her mind. Oh, she had screamed. She had yelled and cried and no one had come. No white knight had ridden to her rescue, and the help that had come was too late to be welcome. She could control her thirst. She had controlled it before.

Seconds later, Rosalie halted as a horrific sight reached her eyes. Before her, a massive grizzly towered over a broken form, an immense claw raised for a death swipe. Not certain what guided her, she launched herself forward. The beast didn't even have time to turn. Razor teeth cleared it's thick, muggy fur. She faintly felt revulsion at the taste of animal hair between her teeth. Normally, she would have attacked with greater delicacy, a strike to spinal column or a guided kick to the chest, but now was not the time to be queasy.

The great bear shuddered beneath her, eyes frantic at finding its situation reversed. Rolling backwards in a final ill-fated attempt to throw her, she snapped its neck. It fell with a tremulous thud, throwing off undulating swirls of dust. Tiny black eyes stared, wide and dim, never once glimpsing the beautiful monster that had been his demise.

Rosalie bounded back, frantically wiping the blood from her lips. Its sinful taste made it much more difficult to ignore the form before her. The man's blood would be like the finest delicacy on earth compared to the blood of the beast beside her. Even now, a raging thirst burned the back of her throat, making it almost impossible to concentrate. Holding her breath, she rushed forward, bountiful golden locks bouncing around her shoulders. The man was stirring feebly, his face pressed into the foliage. She could hear his heart slowing like a death knell as each pathetic pump sent his blood leaking from a great gash across his back.

He'll die. A tiny voice said, even as she turned him over. It's not worth the struggle…

That voice was immediately silenced as gazed up his face. Warm brown eyes met hers, crinkled in pain and confusion. Curly hair fell about his face in dark locks. Traces of dimples touched his cheeks like ghosts.

"Angel," he croaked blearily, as his eyes drifted closed.

But she was someplace else, bouncing Vera's baby on her hip, fascinated by his indiscriminate laughter.

And the man was in her arms. She ran, not breathing, hoping for a miracle.


End file.
